It's just Quidditch, right?
by KyraAnnCoombes
Summary: Ginny's 7th year has an awful start. None of her friends have come back, and Harry...Oh, Harry. The only thing that will make this year tolerable is Quidditch. But will Madam Hooch's replacement stir more in her than a competitive drive?
1. Back To The Old House

**A/N: **_If you've been following my story for a while, you might be surprised to see different names on old chapters. Just know that I haven't actually changed the content!_

I

Ginny boarded the train somewhat mechanically. In all of her 17 years of life, she couldn't recall ever being so unenthusiastic about going back to Hogwarts. And it was no wonder, really. She tried not to look out the window onto the platform where everyone was standing, but she couldn't help herself. She turned, managing a smile as she looked out onto her friends and family for what she knew would be the last time in months. Of course, Ron & Hermione were already arguing about something. Her arms were crossed and Ginny could almost hear her scolding her "Ronald," who was blushing & looking sullen. (_Probably,_Ginny thought, _because Hermione was right. She always is._) She laughed as her mother reached up to smack her brother George across the back of the head. The laugh stopped a bit suddenly as she looked to the space next to George where Fred would usually stand. She still hadn't gotten used to not seeing two of them. The moment passed, and the train began to move as Ginny looked to her dad, standing with her oldest brother Bill and looking stuck in a frightfully boring conversation with Percy. Next was her brother Charlie, who was gesticulating wildly with his arms (_Probably talking about Quidditch_) with Harry, who Ginny could just barely see was smiling and nodding attentively. Oh, Harry. Ginny looked out the window at him until he was no taller than one of the Golden Snitches he was talking with Charlie about. When he finally faded into the cloud of puffy white smoke left by the train, Ginny sighed and looked around at the too-empty compartment. She frowned as she realized just how alone she'd be this year, with all of her close friends having finished their careers at Hogwarts. Even Luna, her only close friend in her year, wouldn't be returning to school. She was being home-schooled by her rather eccentric father as he groomed her to take over the presses of the Quibbler.

Her mind drifted back to Harry. _Some stunt of his to pull the night before I leave_, she thought, remembering what had gone on the night before. He had sat her down and told her quietly that the war was only mostly over and she that had to finish with school before they could be together. This, after waiting an entire year for him while he did his hero business..._I suppose I could do it again if I've done it once_, she said to herself.

Ginny was so lost in her own thought that she didn't notice the compartment door sliding open slowly. She came to when a vaguely familiar voice spoke her name.

"Ginny Weasley? Bloody hell, you're a grown witch!" She looked up sharply at the burly young man with the short brown hair who had said her name. It was an instant before she recognized him.

"Oliver? Oliver Wood?" Ginny asked abruptly.

His dark eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically. "Fancy me being back on the Hogwarts Express! Right shock, innit?"

Ginny managed a nod as he sat down across from her. "Erm...what are you doing back on the train, Oliver?"

He smiled at her, replying, "Got an owl from McGonagall! Madam Hooch was offered a curator's position at the Quidditch Museum, so she's left. McGonagall's always had a soft spot for me (not that she'd ever admit it) so she offered me the Flying Instructor & referee spot. Gave me an excuse to leave Puddlemere." At the mention of his former team, Oliver's brows knit into a scowl.

"You weren't happy with them?" Ginny inquired.

Oliver shook his head. "I was, for a few years. But lately players had been making it in based more on the size of their Gringotts account than the size of their talent." He spat the word, frowning.

The compartment went quiet before Ginny broke the silence. "So you said you'll be the Flying Instructor, then?" Oliver nodded. "Then we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other." Ginny began to explain after Oliver raised a brow. "I've been getting owls from different teams since the war ended, so about a month and a half ago I sent McGonagall one asking if I could aide Madam Hooch instead of having a free period, y'know, so I could look at teams and get more practice, and she said it was fine."

Oliver looked incredulous. "You've heard from more than one team already? Bloody hell, Ginny! It was halfway through my 7th year before I'd heard from anyone! I've played Quidditch with 3 of your brothers and lived with another for 7 years, not one of them even told me you flew, much less that you were good enough to bloody go professional!"

Ginny's smile was between proud and wicked. "They didn't know. But yes, I'm a decent enough Chaser and a passable Seeker. Oh, and McGonagall let slip in her letter that I'd gotten the Quidditch Captaincy for this year, so I guess there's that, too," Ginny shrugged nonchalantly.

Oliver laughed, remembering his 3 years as Gryffindor Captain. He began to share stories with her, both of playing at school and as a reserve for Puddlemere. She laughed and told him her own stories, her thoughts from the platform not bothering her for the rest of the ride to Hogwarts.


	2. A Bad Case of Melancholy

II.

Returning to Hogwarts for the first time since the Battle was an emotionally trying experience, to say the least. Ginny watched an unfamiliar professor calling the First Years over, Hagrid nowhere in sight. She let all of the other students pass her by as they stepped into what to most of them looked like empty carriages. As they walked past wordlessly, she looked up at the enormous castle that she knew so well. It seemed to be almost less alive than it usually was; as if it understood the great casualties it had suffered. _And it probably does, _Ginny mused, stepping into the last Thestral-drawn carriage and trying hard not to think about all she had lost in the Battle and its aftermath.

Minutes later, she entered the Great Hall. The tables that had for so many years been filled with happy, chattering students were before her. Not one was more that ¾ full. Ginny knew that many of the students had been severely injured during the Battle. Some were dead, others still missing. Several had switched schools or decided to be home-schooled. The energy of the room reminded her vaguely of the previous year. Dumbledore was just dead and there had been Death Eaters at the long teacher's table. Ginny shuddered at the memory. Where as that feast had been tensely silent and intimidating, this one was more... peaceful. It was a somber peace, not unlike that of Professor Dumbledore's funeral, but a peace all the same. Ginny looked at the half-empty teacher's table. Professor McGonagall sat in the center, looking tired and aged beyond her already considerable years. Professors Sprout and Flitwick sat on her right and left, respectively, looking just shy of defeated. Those three aside, the table's remaining occupants were mostly young professors unfamiliar to Ginny, except, of course, Oliver. He was seated almost directly in front of the Gryffindor table. He caught her eye and smiled as she took her seat.

During the Sorting, Ginny looked around the Great Hall. She saw several familiar faces, but few she could put names to. She scoped the Hall once more before her gaze finally landed on Oliver again. He smiled, noticing her glance, before turning to clap for Gryffindor's newest student, Derrick Trumpton. Ginny looked down at her still-empty plate. _Trumpton. Surely that means we're almost done? Then there'd be the feast, and a word from Professor McGonagall..._Ginny sighed and sunk down in her seat. She wished she could skip to breakfast the next morning to get her schedule with the note at the bottom explaining the duties and privileges of the Quidditch Captaincy. If nothing else, that was what she looked forward to for the year ahead. Practicing, playing, and (hopefully) winning, corresponding with teams across Europe...she grinned at the idea of it all.

The rest of the feast passed without incident. Ginny hadn't paid much attention, only enough to gather what information was necessary. This she reviewed as she walked alone towards Gryffindor Tower. The first bit that had caught her attention was when McGonagall had stated that she'd be performing dual-duties as Headmistress & Transfiguration Professor, "Until I can find someone who teaches it as well as I do," as she put it. The only other news was that with the reduced student body, first year students would be eligible to try out for their House Quidditch teams. Ginny had begrudgingly accepted that it would probably be necessary.

Ginny stepped through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor Common Room. She knew that lingering there would bring up a whole mess of emotions that she was in no mood to process, so she wasted no time in getting up to her dorm...which she found to consist of only one bed. She went through a mental checklist of her year mates. She knew Jasmine's family was still missing and hadn't expected her to return. Claudia's uncle was revealed to be a Death Eater after the battle, so that was understandable. Cynthia, whom she was on friendly terms with, had owled her to say she'd be home schooled...Ginny sat down on the bed. That left only Shannon unaccounted for, and Ginny had never much gotten on with her. She stood, deciding to ignore how ridiculously alone she felt. She threw her robes down on the floor, (_If it's just my room, I might as well_) and put on her pajamas, brushing her teeth before climbing into bed. She wrote her family a quick note that she'd post in the morning, saying that she'd gotten to school well and hadn't forgotten anything important (It wasn't like she knew, she hadn't even thought of unpacking) and explaining her living arrangements. She finished and signed the note, laying it on her bedside table as she blew out the lights to lay down in bed. All of her needlessly complicated thoughts and feelings were pushed out of her mind as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	3. Different But The Same

**A/N:**_ Thanks for the great reviews, and the follows! I know this chapter was a long time in the making, but it's my favorite. So thanks for your patience, and stick around, because things are about to get a lot less boring!_

III.

The first day of classes was unremarkable. It didn't matter that Ginny was the only seventh year Gryffindor girl, because with the...events of previous year, nearly all of the students were far behind. The new professors certainly had their work cut out for them.

Ginny ruminated on her quiet morning as she ate her lunch. She desperately wished Hermione, or even Luna was around. She could owl them, of course, but there were silly, unimportant things that she wanted to say. Fed up with eating alone, she got up. A quick glance at the long teacher's table revealed that Oliver wasn't there, which probably meant he was up in his office. Ginny walked in that direction, curious as to how different the small office would look without all of Madam Hooch's decorations and personal effects. Arriving, she knocked on the door, and it opened a moment later. She stepped in and looked around. The office looked...well, not unlike her dorm, actually. There was a large trunk on the floor and the box of Quidditch balls on one shelf of the otherwise empty bookcase. Her gaze finally settled on Oliver, who was standing behind the door.

"I really love what you've done with the place," Ginny joked.

Oliver pointed to the chest on the floor. "You're the aide, that's your first job."

Ginny knelt down and opened the trunk. The insides smelled like grass and soap, reminding her strongly of Quidditch. The trunk consisted mostly of books and pictures, with other odds and ends thrown in. At the bottom sat a navy blue set of Quidditch robes that read WOOD across the back in glittering gold letters.

Ginny pulled them out and held them up. "D'you want these up?" she asked.

"I told you, you're in charge," Oliver shrugged. "If it's in the trunk it's fair game."

Ginny shook her head at his indifference and affixed the robes to the blank wall directly behind his desk with a simple Sticking Charm. "Where's your broom?" she inquired, taking a step back to look at the newly adorned wall.

"Personal trunk, up in my room. Why?" he answered, crossing his arms.

Ginny ignored his question. "Just go get it."

Oliver crossed the office, stepping through a door just to the right of where his Puddlemere robes now hung. He went up the narrow flight of stairs that led to his private quarters. "Tinderblast," he muttered to the portrait an ancient broom race, stepping into his room.

His Nimbus 2001 was leaned against the wall next to his bed. As a 6 year old model, it my have been a touch outdated, but it had been a gift from his dad when he'd signed on with Puddlemere. Now that his dad was gone...Oliver sat on the edge of his bed. It'd been just over two years ago when the Death Eaters had come for his parents, just because he'd been friends with Harry Potter when he was at school. His mother had been taken prisoner, but his father, a Muggleborn wizard, hadn't been so lucky.

He sighed before standing and grabbing the broom._ Ginny must be wondering what's taking me so long,_ he thought. _Ginny._ Oliver was in an interesting place with her. He'd heard about her since his first day at Hogwarts from his friend and yearmate Percy Weasley. He'd heard more playing under the captaincy of Charlie, the second oldest Weasley, in his earlier years at school, and even more so from Fred, George, and Harry. That being said, it was no easy task to reconcile the tales of Ginny, the little girl, with the fully-grown and apparently talented young woman who was decorating his office. As he left his room, he glanced at his reflection in the small mirror without fully knowing why. Oliver shook his head to clear his thoughts before heading back to his office and to Ginny.

Ginny continued her decorating as Oliver went up to his room. Next to the robes, she hung a picture of the Puddlemere reserve team. While she waited for the broom, she prepared the spot where it would be placed. Underneath the pictures, she conjured three tiny, curved goal hoops that stuck out from the wall. Once this was finished, she came back to the trunk. Lying in a stack were 5 pictures of the Gryffindor House Quidditch team, going from his 3rd year all the way to his 7th. She carried the stack over to the bookcase, where she stuck them one by one in chronological order. On the third one, from Oliver's 5th year, her heart stopped. Standing next to Professor McGonagall in the photo was a barely 11-year-old Harry Potter. Ginny smiled at how little he'd changed: the hair, the glasses...she could just barely make out the bright green eyes. For a moment, she was 10 years old, standing with her mum at the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ and begging to go to Hogwarts, seeing Harry in person for the first time in her life...she shook her head to clear her thoughts and hung the last two pictures.

When Oliver returned, Ginny's face was buried in the trunk. She held out her hand as she heard the door open. "Broom," she half-commanded.

Oliver blinked and placed it in her hand, looking around. "Not a bad job, Weasley!" He pointed to the bent goal hoops protruding from the wall. "What're those for?" He asked. Ginny looked at him and slowly floated the old broom up into the hoops so that it rested right on top of them, underneath the team picture and to the side of the robes.

"That," she answered, turning to face him. "Does it look alright?"

He nodded dumbly in reply before managing an exclamation of "Brilliant." Ginny smiled proudly as Oliver looked at the wall in admiration, then to his watch, then to her, asking awkwardly, "So are you...mine...now?"

Ginny looked back at him, confused, before she realized what he was talking about. "Oh! Um...no. Care of Magical Creatures first, then I'm...yours." Ginny nodded as she finished the sentence. "Is it that time already? Merlin, I should go." She picked up her schoolbag. "See you in a bit, Oli-erm, I mean, Professor Wood!"

As she left, he called out after her. "Oliver's fine, Ginny. See you in a bit." He took a deep breath and sat at his mostly-empty desk, reaching for the Quidditch page of the Daily Prophet.

**A/N:** _It's probably a bit unexpected to see Oliver falling first, but I think he's a lot more emotional than we give him credit for. And besides, Ginny very clearly still has Harry to think about. She'll come around, though. ;)_


	4. Barely Breathing

**A/N: **_Sorry it took so long for this update! This chapter took about 6 years to write, and twice as long to type. It's just really, really long, but I couldn't find any place to stop it besides the end. Enjoy!_

IV.

Ginny hadn't the energy to laugh bitterly at the disaster that'd been her first Care of Magical Creatures lesson for 7th year. Despite previous clues to the contrary, Hagrid was indeed still at Hogwarts. This she had seen (and felt) first hand, when he wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug before class.

"Ginny! I can't believe yeh came back!" Hagrid's voice was shaky and he seemed torn between joy and deep sorrow at Ginny's arrival outside his hut.

"After all tha's happened...I juss can't stan ter be in the Great Hall no more, y'know. They did a ruddy fine job redoin' it, tha's fer sure, but I juss...tha's the kin' of thin' yeh don't ferget. Been takin' me meals out here, juss Fang an' meself..."

At this point, Ginny had pulled out of his tight hug. She'd wanted to pat Hagrid on the back as some sign of reassurance, but hadn't been able to. Her short frame against the half-giant's large one left her arm (rather awkwardly) at the exact height of his rear. She settled with patting his over-large hand. "It'll be alright, Hagrid, I promise. C'mon, smile. You've a class to teach." Hagrid sniffled once more before nodding in agreement.

In hindsight, Ginny almost wished she hadn't encouraged Hagrid to get on with the lesson. The gamekeeper had spent weeks turning a little patch of land outside his hut into a sizeable swamp, through which Ginny and her classmates trudged through looking for Dugbogs. Marks for the day were for participating in the search, and it was 5 points to the House of the finder for each of the creatures located. No one was particularly surprised that the Hufflepuffs of the group came out ahead. Ginny had participated as earnestly as she could manage, but still took every opportunity available to stop hunting and talk to Hagrid. Her heart ached when he asked after Harry, Ron and Hermione. He had always had a soft spot for Ginny (in fact, he was one of her first and only true friends in her first year at Hogwarts), but she knew she would never have the connection with him that her brother and his friends did. When Hagrid congratulated her on "Finally gettin' tergether wit' Harry," she didn't have the heart to correct him. Unfortunately, it was on that forlorn note that class had ended.

Ginny retreated rather grumpily towards the castle. She was muddy from the waist down and her cheeks betrayed the slightest hint of sunburn. Her long, fiery hair clung to her neck and the sides of her face as she lazily swatted some flies away. The cool and refreshing air from the interior of the castle washed over her as she walked towards Gryffindor Tower. She had time enough to set down her books and rest a little, but not enough to take a shower (_And I refuse to put a clean uniform on when I'm in such desperate need of a proper wash, _Ginny thought).

Back in her dorm, Ginny brushed some of the dried mud off of her pants, patting a damp rag against the back of her neck. She didn't need to look in a mirror to know that her face was still tomato red from the heat and the sun.

After mildly fixing herself up, Ginny kicked the rug aside and sat on the hardwood floor, leaning her head against the cool stone wall. Looking down, she noticed her pant legs were still mostly caked in mud. _Not like I've anyone to impress here, _she mused darkly as she chipped more mud off of her legs. A few minutes past before the clock chimed, reminding her that her break was nearly over. She picked herself up and left for her first official aide period with Oliver.

Dutifully, if unenthusiastically, she began her journey back to his office. Upon arriving, she found the door cracked open. She knocked once, softly, and entered after there was no reply. Ginny had to bite her lip to stifle the giggle that was bubbling up inside of her at the sight before her. Everything- the decorations, the broom, the shelves, even the open trunk and it's disheveled contents- was exactly as she had left it, including Oliver. His feet were propped up on his desk and he had fallen asleep, the Daily Prophet Quidditch page open on his gently breathing chest. Following a moment of observation, Ginny crossed her arms and cleared her throat loudly. With a start, Oliver sat up, eyes open, and brought his feet down.

He coughed nervously. "Must've dozed off."

Ginny couldn't help herself any longer. She laughed at him, resting one hand on her hip. Defensive, it was now his turn to cross his arms. "Don't you dare tell McGonagall!" He tried to be serious, but ended up laughing with her. "Look at me, I'm a bloody teacher and I'm still afraid to be tattled on." He shook his head. "But really, you didn't see that." Now awake and alert, he took in Ginny's decidedly frazzled appearance. "The hell happened to you?" he asked, dark brows knit in a frown.

Ginny looked down, already having forgotten what a mess she was. "Oh. Dugbogs. Hagrid's idea of a welcome back present, I s'pose," she shrugged.

To her surprise, Oliver shooed her away. "Well don't bring it in here! Haven't even properly set up my office and you're already set about to dragging half the grounds through here? Out! Go change or something!"

"You must be the only Quidditch player I've ever met who's afraid of a little mud," Ginny chuckled.

"Well ha, ha," Oliver retorted. "You can be as funny as you'd like once you're clean, lassie. And," he added, checking his watch, "don't bother coming back. I've trained with enough girls to know how long you lot take in the showers."

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "Alright! I'll go! Look," she exclaimed as she stepped out of the door, "I'm not in your precious office anymore!"

Oliver nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good! And don't come back tomorrow unless you're clean, I don't care if you're late."

Ginny didn't respond and Oliver smiled as he closed the door to his office, muttering to himself, "I can't believe the cheeky little thing accused –me- of being afraid of mud..."

* * *

><p>It wasn't the longest shower taken in Hogwarts history, but it was definitely in the top 25. As well as she'd managed to control it thus far, Ginny could no longer deny that today had been far more emotional than she would have liked. <em>Although I did manage to genuinely laugh today.<em>

When she finally did emerge, she found herself once more in her empty room. The clock showed that dinner started in another 20 minutes. In under half an hour, nearly all of the students would be headed down to the Great Hall, and Ginny could have the Common Room to herself. Until then...she reached into her school bag for a quill and a length of parchment. Dipping the quill in ink, she wrote as neatly as possible on the top of the page:

OI! ARE YOU DECENT ON A BROOMSTICK?

**Gryffindor Quidditch**

Name – Year – Position

She put her quill down and picked up her wand, enchanting the new sign-up sheet to shout its top two lines. Her heart panged and she was 12 years old again, charming Harry a get-well card after he'd fallen off of his broom in the match against Hufflepuff. The parchment and her wand fell to the floor as she took her head in her hands. "I can't. keep. doing this to myself," she said, frustrated.

It was 7:15 by the time Ginny had collected herself. She trudged down the stairs, hanging the sign-up sheet on the notice board. Sinking into a chair by the fire, Ginny realized how hungry she was. "Bit stupid of me, skipping dinner," she grumbled.

* * *

><p>After Ginny left, Oliver leaned against his desk, thinking about the last two times he had seen her before Sunday afternoon. The first time, she and the rest of her family had been crowded around Fred's lifeless body, too overwhelmed with grief to cry. He shuddered to remember George's screams echoing in the morbid silence of the Great Hall.<p>

Fred. His friend, who had teased him during his years as Quidditch Captain, who, with his brother George had been the best Beaters Gryffindor House had ever seen. Oliver smiled, remembering the time he had told a young Harry Potter that the twins were like a pair of human Bludgers.

Fred had died. His 7th year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, had died as well, alongside his young wife. Oliver had heard McGonagall, choking on her tears, telling someone that they had just had a son. And Oliver had carried the tiny body of Colin Creevey, who had only been in his second year when Oliver graduated, into the Great Hall to join countless more dead and injured bodies.

Which brought him to the last time he had seen her. The weeks after the battle had brought multitudes of funerals. He had only gone to Fred's.

Fred's funeral was nothing short of heartbreaking. It had been enormous. The guests ranged from Hogwarts students and teachers of past and present, to a large crowd of crying redheads who Oliver could only assume were family. There were shopkeepers from Diagon Alley (Florean Fortescue had made it, only three days after being released from a prison camp) and people from all walks of life. The guests included Ludo Bagman, the former Wimbourne Wasps Beater, and Mundungus Fletcher, the renowned thief. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, floated in with Peeves the Poltergeist. Peeves had even traded his usual garb of obnoxiously bright colors for somber robes of black, and could be seen to have a single tear tracing his cheek at the end of the service.

The service was one of the saddest things Oliver had ever seen in his nearly 23 years of life, including his father's funeral. The entire Weasley family, minus their matriarch, spoke by Fred's open casket. Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Ron had gotten through all right. Ginny and Percy had barely made it. It was terrible for Oliver to see his old friend and yearmate falling apart like that. They had been close back at school, but Oliver was one of the people Percy had cut out of his life, along with his family, to advance himself at the Ministry. George's attempt was unbearable. At the time it had drawn tears from everyone in the gathering, Oliver included. George had simply looked at the open casket that held his lost twin and croaked "Freddie..." before falling to his knees. It took the combined efforts of Charlie and Ron to get him back on his feet and into his chair. When the burial had ended, Oliver had quietly laid a Beater's bat against the headstone before leaving as quickly as he could. As he Disapparated, he could remember being selfishly and overwhelmingly thankful to be an only child.

It was also the last time he'd seen Katie Bell. Three years Oliver's junior, Katie had played Quidditch under him in his years as Captain. They had been casually seeing each other while she was fresh out of Hogwarts, when his training schedule and her job would permit. They had even showed up to the battle together. But afterwards...Oliver owled her a few days after Fred's funeral, ending things between them. While his friends were getting married and settling down with girls they hardly knew, just because they felt lucky to be alive, Oliver was leaving the only girl he'd ever had feelings for.

A deep sigh brought him back to the present. He walked over to the half-unpacked bookshelf, finding his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages that his mum had bought for him after he was made Gryffindor's Captain. It was the sort of book he'd read a hundred times, but still picked up when he needed to distract himself. He flipped through the well-worn pages for hours, stopping only when his stomach growled. He looked at his watch and realized he was 30 minutes late for dinner. Tucking the book under his arm, he walked up the stairs to his room. His memories hadn't left him with much of an appetite, anyways.

**A/N:**_ Well well well, even Mr Oliver has emotional baggage! Oh, and recognize Fred's funeral? I'd written it for this story before I used it for _Dear Fred. _(If you haven't read it yet, do it. It's a real tear-jerker) And I just -had- to throw in a 'lassie' from Oliver for all of his lovely fans ;)_


	5. Maybe You're The Same As Me

**A/N: **_So I know you all have been waiting FOREVER for this update. But if you thought the last chapter was long, buckle up and grab some popcorn, because this one is nearly as long as the last 4 chapters combined. I know some of my other stories are a lot more popular, but I'm just so in love with this one. That's enough of me, though. Enjoy!_

V.

The days passed. Things weren't getting any easier or less emotional, but Ginny was getting more used to everything.

Which isn't to say it was easy. For one thing, nearly all of her friends had been older than her, and most of the ones who actually were her age had left anyways. This wasn't news, of course, but it was something Ginny was reminded of on an hourly basis. But that wasn't the worst part. Everyone treated Ginny like she was some trembling waif, a moment's notice from breaking down and sobbing. _Merlin, don't any of these people bloody -know- me? _she thought, groaning out loud as a group of 2nd years eyed her nervously.

Her family was writing regularly, which wasn't so bad. But Ginny had only heard from Harry once. She thought that the silence was painful...until she'd gotten his letter. _If you could call it a letter_, she reflected. _I've seen grocery lists that had more thought put into them._ He had, however, leant her the Marauder's Map, something that she found enormously helpful. When things got too overbearing, she always knew how to find a place where she wouldn't be gawked at like she was part of some Muggle circus sideshow.

Her only relief was in her hours with Oliver. There, when she was discussing the future and every day things, no one could whisper behind her back about the past. He didn't make her talk about Harry or Fred or Tonks or the friends she had lost. He didn't walk on eggshells around her, or pretend like he understood everything she was going through (even if he did). They spoke of school, and Quidditch. Thank Merlin for Quidditch. How could there be grief and uncomfortable emotions in the world when there were new brooms and team stats and players being traded to discuss? In the space of a week he became the only person who spoke to her like she was still a human being and not a ghost. And at the end of that first week, he had sat on the edge of the new Quidditch pitch and watched her try to assemble her team, then had tea with her the next day to help her make her decisions.

They had struck up an odd sort of friendship, and it wasn't entirely one-sided. Even amongst the influx of new teachers, Oliver was a bit young, and his decidedly un-academic interests didn't much endear him to his peers. The majority of them appreciated Quidditch, to be sure, but none of them could understand how the former Keeper lived, ate, and breathed the sport. Grief and unwillingness to face the harsh realities of war had made him even more of a fanatic than he had been. And he knew the same thing was happening to Ginny Weasley. He could see it in the way she flew, certainly, but he saw it nearly as well when she was on the ground. Sometimes he wondered if she knew that it had happened to him, too.

He brought it up one afternoon. To be honest, there wasn't much for them to do in their time together. The school brooms only needed servicing once every few weeks, and it would be November before any teams made Ginny a serious offer. So two or three times a week they simply flew.

One Wednesday, towards the end of September, they went through a particularly fierce set of drills. Oliver had only managed to block two thirds of Ginny's shots. As they descended, he called out, "Merlin! I was playing professionally not a month ago and your scored on me 15 times! No House Keeper stands a chance!"

Ginny smiled proudly. "Thank you. You might do better if you switched out your manky old broom, y'know. There are nicer ones in the school shed. Or, now that the 3500's out, you can probably get a 3100 for reasonably cheap, if you're keen on Nimbus."

Oliver touched down. "This isn't any 'manky old broom,' Weasley. And besides," he added, "how'd you afford a new Firebolt when all your brothers rode ancient Cleansweeps?"

Her eyes briefly closed before she answered, and Oliver knew in an instant he'd said the wrong thing.

"Fred and George bought them for each other last Christmas. George gave me Fred's after...over the summer."

He put a hand on her arm. "'M sorry, Ginny. I should've figured-"

"It's not your fault," she said, shaking her head, "you had no way of knowing." She looked back up, half-smiling. "Anyways, I've told you my broom's story, do I get to hear yours now?"

Oliver sighed. He laid his broom down gently and sat on the grass next to it, motioning for Ginny to do the same. He started talking as she sat. "I signed on with Puddlemere about a week after finishing school. Dad was so proud...he was a Muggleborn, y'see, so Quidditch was completely fascinating to him. For his only son to be good enough to play professionally...well, semi-professionally, but to hear him go on about it you'd think I was playing nationally for Scotland..." He smiled fondly at the memory. "He got me the broom. Back then it was only about a year and a half old, just about the nicest thing on the market besides the Firebolt. And it was a damned sight better than the Comet I'd been flying. So that was my broom. I used it for two years, and most of the other reserves were flying on that or similar. I was getting ready to go home for Easter and my birthday, and Dad had been hinting that he might be getting me a new broom, because the Puddlemere reserves were finishing the season at the top of the league." Oliver paused, struggling. This was where the story got difficult. "Four days before our last match of the season I got an owl from the Ministry. The Death Eaters..." His voice cracked, but he closed his eyes and finished his story. "I buried my father a week before my 20th birthday. Mum was still in St. Mungo's for...from what they'd done to her."

Ginny's face was pale as she touched his hand. "Oliver, I'm so sorry. I hadn't even heard..."

He shrugged, numb to her touch. "Wouldn't have been in the Prophet. They didn't much care then about the deaths of no-named Muggleborns like Liam Wood." Oliver looked at Ginny, a single tear escaping each of his deep brown eyes. They were empty, showing none of the friendly warmth Ginny had become accustomed to. "Y'know, once they saw I wasn't there, they didn't even ask them any questions. They just... They told my mum it was what happened to Mudbloods and the friends of Harry Potter." He looked up. Oliver was sitting in the spot where he had first explained the rules of Quidditch to a young Harry. _That was seven years ago, _he thought. _So many things were different then._

Ginny grasped his hand and stood. "Come on," she said, pulling him up. "Let's get back to the castle. We're both in desperate need of some tea."

The first match was on October 19th, and Ginny couldn't remember ever being happier to play Slytherin. The reduced size and might of the House carried over to their Quidditch team as well.

Oliver had watched some of the rival House's practices. "They're almost pathetically weak, Ginny." He said on afternoon in the week before the match. "If everyone on your team knows one end of their broom from the other, it'll be the easiest match you've ever played."

Ginny nodded, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Not the most impartial of referees, are you?" she quipped, looking over moving diagrams of plays. The bustle in the hall told her that lunch was ending.

To the surprise of both of them, the office door opened slowly. Four giggling girls, no older than Third Year, walked in.

Oliver looked up, perplexed. "Erm...do you ladies need something?" He asked awkwardly.

At the sound of his voice, the girls all giggled even louder. The one standing closest to the front, a short Hufflepuff with curly brown hair, spoke up. "Hi, Professor Wood," she smiled sweetly, "Oh, and you too, Miss Weasley." Ginny almost laughed out loud at the jealous glares she was receiving from the group of young girls. "Professor Wood," the curly headed witch continued, "we were wondering if you could answer some questions for us."

Ginny stopped listening, concentrating again on the animated plays in front of her. Based off of the blushing and giggling, these girls clearly had spent their lunch hour inventing a series of Quidditch-related questions to ask the young professor they were all deeply enamored with. She looked up at him to see how he was handling it. Oliver was excitedly explaining Beater strategies and didn't seem to notice the dreamy stares he was getting. One of them, a heavier blonde from Ravenclaw, openly sighed every time he said "Beater." _He's completely oblivious,_ she thought, watching him with interest. _He's so wrapped up in it all, he's got no idea that these girls don't give a damn about Quidditch and that they're just here to swoon over his brown eyes, his muscles, and his accent..._ The thought trailed off. Eventually, the girls left. As the echo of the last giggle faded, Ginny asked with amusement, "Does that happen often?"

He shrugged, still oblivious to the humor. "I s'pose it happens often enough, when I'm in the halls and such. But that's only the third time I've had office visitors."

Ginny laughed out loud, but Oliver still didn't get the joke.

"What's so funny?" He demanded, frowning. But the sight of his brows knit over his dark eyes in confusion only made Ginny laugh harder.

"You really don't see it?"

"See what?" He was quickly losing his patience.

"Those little girls that were just in here. What d'you reckon they wanted?" Ginny raised a brow, setting down the playbook.

"They were asking about defensive strategies, but I don't see what this has to do wi-"

She cut him off. "Defensive strategies? Did you not see the way they were gawking at you? They practically had to pop their eyes back into their skulls as they left! The one Ravenclaw actually sighed out loud when you spoke, it was really kind of ridiculous..."

Oliver was shaking his head. "Ginny, I still have no idea what you're playing at-"

"They're in love with you! Nearly every witch in the school under Fifth Year and half of the ones above are obsessed with you. I caught some Second Years asking McGonagall if they could retake their flying lessons. I'd say you're one of the most popular of the new young teachers. Merlin, did you really have no idea?" she asked calmly.

Oliver was dumbstruck, but he was blushing slightly. He blinked and stammered as he struggled to find words. "But wh...I'm older...they can't...what do they even...What?"

Ginny leaned back in her seat and began to explain. "Yes, you're older, so that's definitely a part of it, you're considered a war hero on top of having been a semi-professional athlete..." she ticked the reasons off on her fingers. "You come off as very modest, even though the reality is that you're so wrapped up in your own little Quidditch world that you don't recognize that people admire you... Oh, and of course there's the physical attraction," she added. All in all they're probably quite taken with you just on looks alone, then when you add in the Scottish bit-"

"Scottish bit?" He interrupted.

"Oh, of course. The slightly exotic accent is a big thing at that age. Every witch in my year was in love with Seamus Finnigan 'cause he's just so bloody Irish."

Oliver was still flabbergasted beyond words.

"And naturally this all comes as a complete shock to you. Didn't have many girlfriends in school, did you?" she teased.

"Wasn't interested. Even if I were, I would only have dated a Quidditch player. I refused to fancy anyone on my own team and couldn't very well go around with a rival..." he trailed off.

It was Ginny's turn to be shocked. "You mean never...at all...once...not so much as a date to Hogsmeade?"

He shrugged. "Never much fancied Hogsmeade. Their Quidditch store is under-stocked and overpriced."

_Oh bloody hell, here we go again,_ Ginny thought. _Does he ever think of anything else?_ "But so many girls must've fancied you!" she stammered. "I know some of them all the way back in my year did! You're not a homosexual, are you? Because Percy was the same way and Mum wonders-"

"No!" he nearly shouted, "and unless a -lot- has changed in the past few years, Percy isn't either." Ginny raised a brow at him. "I shared a room with him for seven years, remember? He's bloody weird about who he fancies, but I can promise you it's not wizards."

Ginny didn't press him any further on the point. "Aren't you seeing Katie now? Does she know about your legions of young female fans?" She smiled, but Oliver blushed and looked away.

"No. I...erm...things ended," he explained haltingly.

_Godric, _she thought pityingly as she watched him, _I know that look. That's what I see in the damned mirror when I'm asking myself why Harry doesn't write anymore._ "I'm sorry," she said quietly. And then she told him something that she hadn't told anyone in the whole month and a half she'd been back at school. "I...I'm not with Harry, either. I know how you feel, like it's what everyone expects of you after all that's happened? But he broke it off the day before I left for school." She sighed, adding, "I've only heard from him three times all term."

They looked at each other. They both wanted to feel sorry for the other one, but too many painful memories had been brought up in the last few minutes for either of them to manage it.

By the time Ginny got down to breakfast on the morning of the match, there were three owls waiting for her at the Gryffindor table. She sat and removed the letters from the owls' legs. The old barn owl had yet another letter from her mum and dad. A dark owl with large, almost orange eyes was carrying Hermione's neatly written note. The last bird was light brown, except for a patch of feathers on its left wing that looked...singed. Unsurprisingly, it bore a letter from Charlie. As she stood and took the sort-of burnt owl over to Hagrid, a tiny owl flew in and beat its tiny wings rapidly, zooming around her head.

"Calm down, Pigwidgeon!" she said. Hagrid took Charlie's owl and she managed to grab Pig from around her head. She untied Ron's letter and nearly threw the tiny, over-excited owl back up in the air.

Before the end of the meal, she'd also been visited by Hermes, Percy's stodgy owl, and Hagrid had patted her roughly on the back on his way out of the hall, knocking over a bowl of cereal and a rack of toast as he wished her good luck. Tired of being made a spectacle of, Ginny got up. She had been waiting for one last owl... _No,_ she reprimanded herself as she climbed the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, letters in hand. _What made you think Harry would write? Don't be foolish. _She was still lost in thought when she reached the Fat Lady.

"Ahem," the portrait coughed, "are you going to just stand there, or would you like to enter?"

"Oh!" Ginny hadn't realized how long she'd been standing in the hall. "Dragon Pox!"

The portrait swung open. She walked past the students who were still straggling down to breakfast and up the stairs to her room. Her broom was already laid out on her bed. She picked it up, laying the letters down in its place. Even if she'd had the time, she didn't much feel like reading all of the loving and caring messages only to feel like one was missing.

Briskly, she gathered her Quidditch things and left for the changing rooms. She had just barely pulled her robes over her head when the door opened. In walked Lyssa Temple, a Fourth Year and Gryffindor House's newest Seeker. She was tall for having just turned 15; with shoulder-length brown hair and long bangs she'd clipped back for the match. Ginny had liked the younger girl almost immediately, and appreciated her fun and social nature. Lyssa had a way of loosening up the young, nervous team. But her usual smile was nowhere to be seen, and her brown eyes were brimming over with tears.

Ginny rushed over to her. "Lyssa, what's happened? Are you alright?"

Lyssa wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her red and gold sweater. "He broke up with me," she whimpered.

Ginny hugged the younger witch tightly as comfort, but was less than thrilled. _This kind of emotional business is the last thing we need today,_ she thought, _especially from our Seeker._

"We argued, over breakfast," Lyssa sniffed, "and now it's just...over! I can't believe it, Ginny; we've been dating since the end of our Second Year! I just love him so much..."

"Merlin, Lyssa, that's terrible!" Ginny said, trying hard not to think of Harry. "Will you still be able to fly today?" she asked nervously.

Lyssa nodded once, drying her eyes again. "Of course, the team needs me. Maybe flying will help me feel better and... forget things," she whispered.

"It always helps me," Ginny said reassuringly. She was greatly relieved when Sara Poole burst into the changing room. Sara was in Lyssa's year and a friend of hers. She probably had a much better understanding of the situation.

While the two Fourth Year girls hugged and talked, Ginny was mentally preparing for the match, going through her roster and thinking over plays. It had been risky, choosing a girl to play Beater, especially one as young as Sara. But no one could argue with the way Sara had performed in tryouts. She was even taller than Lyssa, with curly, light brown hair and freckles. Her skills as a Beater came from her broad shoulders and athletic build: she competed in the Muggle sport of swimming when she wasn't at school.

Rubin Cork, the other Beater, was almost Sara's direct opposite. A stocky Third Year, he was barely taller than Ginny, with short, dark hair. His build was thick and more traditional for a Beater, and he was a decent enough flyer. _Speak of the devil, _she thought, as he entered the changing room with Matthew and Michael Alvarez behind him. The Gryffindor Quidditch team featured a new set of twins, this time as Chasers. The burly, tanned Fifth Years were new to Hogwarts. Their father had been transferred to the English Ministry and they had just moved from America at the end of the war. In the air, they flew as only twins could, something that both thrilled Ginny and secretly broke her heart.

"Any of you lot seen our Keeper?" Ginny asked. She eyed the twins carefully, knowing at least one of them fancied Kayleigh Missole.

"She was finishing her eggs as we left-" One of the twins said, "but she should be here any minute!" his brother finished.

Ginny picked up her book of animated plays and flipped through it to distract herself from the memories of Fred and George finishing each other's sentences. The door flew open.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Kayleigh exclaimed, pulling her blonde hair back and out of her face. "Sorry it took me so long," the Sixth Year blushed. Not many students had tried out for Keeper, but Kayleigh had been an easy choice. Her brainy confidence was endearing, in and out of the air.

"Alright. Well," Ginny began as Kayleigh pulled on her robes, "we really couldn't ask for a better first match. Slytherin's really weak right now." The twins nodded, Sara and Rubin smiled. "But that doesn't mean we can be careless, alright? There could still be a major upset if we get too cocky." She held up one of the plays. "We flew this in practice last week and I think it'll be our strongest option for the start of the match..."

At the sound of Oliver's whistle, the balls flew up into the air, followed by the players. Ginny shot up and caught the Quaffle.

"That's Weasley with the Quaffle!" shouted Kristin Arme. Kristin was a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year. The tall and witty witch had apparently been chosen as the commentator for the year's Quidditch matches. "But Hawthorne from Slytherin's just fired off a well-hit bludger..."

Ginny ducked, but Sara was behind her, beating the bludger across the pitch.

"Excellent defense by Poole, the first female beater in nearly 25 years!" Kristin shouted.

Ginny swerved sharply to her right, faking a pass down to one of the twins. He flew off to the left, and Ginny punched the Quaffle through the far right hoop before Slytherin's Keeper realized the deception.

"Ten points to Gryffindor and a goal for Weasley! If she keeps up that kind of flying, she'll have every team in England knocking down her front door!" Kristin bellowed. Half of the stadium erupted with applause.

"I can't believe the match this has been!" Kristin cried out. "That'd be one of the Alvarez brothers with the Quaffle for another goal! That's right, Hogwarts, the score is now 140-0...And Brass is on the move! Did Slytherin's First Year Seeker spot the Snitch?"

Ginny panicked. Surely enough, Damon Brass was shooting across the pitch. _Where the hell is Lyssa? _She worried, flying upwards and calling out, "Poole! Cork! I need you on Brass, distract him!" She could see Lyssa circling the pitch above her.

"That's Aaron Cross of Slytherin with the Quaffle," Kristin said, "with teammate Adriana Harrison not far behind! Cross is headed towards Gryffindor Keeper Missole rather fast...could this be the end of Gryffindor's shut-out?"

Ginny could hardly hear her. "Lyssa!" she shouted, "Get your arse down here! Brass is about to get the bloody Snitch!"

Ginny saw the tracks of tears on Lyssa's face as she flew past, but now wasn't the time to apologize. Right now, Ginny was more worried about-

"I don't believe it! Cross has collided with Missole and they're both falling fast...but Harrison's gotten the Quaffle! She shoots and scores on an unguarded hoop!" Kristin sounded incredulous.

Ginny groaned aloud as the Slytherins celebrated. She flew back down and her heart soared. In the excitement of the goal, people hadn't noticed Lyssa streaking down towards the grass. Brass followed, but hit the ground with a thud as Lyssa swooped up, the Golden Snitch wriggling in her fist. Oliver's whistle blew again as Kristin bellowed, "A fantastic catch by Temple! Gryffindor wins with an amazing 290-10!"

Ginny touched the ground, exhausted but ecstatic.

**A/N: **_Whew! I told you it was long! The banter after the giggly girls leave is some of my favorite banter, especially the bit about Percy ;) Anyways, you've all been waiting patiently, but there's only one more chapter before things get interesting! I planned out Ch.7 this morning, and let's just say it's gonna be good. Stay tuned, and please, review!_


	6. I Keep Mine Hidden

**A/N: **_So this has been, like, forever in the making. But I've finally gotten this chapter put together! I had so much fun writing the letters from Hermione and the Weasleys, it's nice to write as someone other than Ginny sometimes. That's enough of me, though, so enjoy the chapter! There's a little challenge for all of you lovely readers at the bottom, too. ;)_

VI.

Ginny finally got back to her dorm at just past 3 AM. If the students of Gryffindor House knew anything, it was how to celebrate a victory, especially one in Quidditch.

And for the first time all year, Ginny enjoyed herself right along with her peers. When Professor McGonagall came downstairs in her tartan nightgown at half past midnight to tell them off, she was so surprised to see Ginny laughing and smiling with the rest of her House that the stern professor congratulated them again on the superb match and had the house-elves bring more pumpkin juice.

Back up in her room, the buzz from the party was keeping Ginny very much awake, even though she'd brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas. She picked the letters from earlier that morning up off her bed and opened Charlie's. The parchment, like everything else about Charlie, smelled like fire. She unfolded it and sat down, reading:

**Good luck on your match this morning, little sister! The dragons and I are all cheering for you, as are most of the boys at the preserve (except for old Jack Harknett, but he was a Slytherin in his time).**

**Anyways, Mum's told me your next match is in early December. I'll try to make it to that one, all right? But if I can't, I'll certainly be there for Ravenclaw in the spring. I remember the Ravenclaw match in -my- Seventh Year…we played during a blizzard, took me about 3 hours to find the bloody snitch and a week to get warm after. But from what I saw in your last letter, you lot should have no problem. Your team sounds pretty strong, and I like the idea of those twins at Chaser. I expect a full report on everything, especially that young girl Sara you've put as Beater!**

**Go go Gryffindor & I can't wait to hear from you.**

**Love,**

**Charlie**

Ginny smiled and put the letter on her bedside table, reminding herself to write him a detailed reply the next day. Next, she opened the one from her mum and dad. First was her mother's curled script:

**Ginevra,**

**It's so odd for everyone but you to be at home, we miss you so dearly! Best of luck on your first match, and we'll do our best to make it out to the next one with the whole family.**

**Please do try and stay safe, Ginny dearest, Quidditch is such a rough game for a girl to be playing.**

**You'll be getting a package from us as soon as we can find an owl big enough to carry it!**

**Love,**

**Mum.**

Which was followed by her father's slanted print:

**My little Ginny,**

**Best of luck for the match! I can't wait to come watch you play.**

**I have a surprise to show you when you come home; Harry's been coming over quite a bit to help me work on it.**

Ginny looked up from the letter, her eyes burning. _Harry's been coming to the Burrow)_ She wondered, frowning. _So he's been talking to everyone in my family but me, is that it? Oh, bother. I'm only getting angry because I'm so tired. _She turned back to the letter.

**George Floo-called from the flat this morning. He's doing really well, Ginny, he's been working to reopen the shop and everything. And you'll never guess who in the name of Merlin has been helping him…Percy and Hermione! Funny to think that the two who gave the twins the most grief at school are now packing fireworks and making fake wands, eh? Oh, and George is telling me to give you a message. He says to "Give those sorry serpents hell," and that he'll be sending you a package "as soon as they're ready."**

…**Be careful with whatever he sends you, will you? Those Wheezes things were dangerous enough without Percy and Hermione's brains behind them.**

Ginny laughed out loud at her father's warning, with no intention to heed it. Knowing that George was doing so well…Ginny could feel months worth of worry and stress falling away from her like the leaves beginning to fall from the trees at the edge of the forest. She read the last line:

**I've missed you lots, littlest pumpkin. See you soon!  
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**Love,**

**Daddy**

_Pumpkin,_ Ginny thought with a smile, _he hasn't called me that since the war ended._ For as long as she could remember, her father had referred to her as "the smallest pumpkin in the Weasley patch," which was shortened to just "pumpkin" after her brothers grew old enough to be embarrassed by the title. If he was calling her by the childish nickname once more, it meant that things were slowly returning to normal at the Burrow.

Next was Hermione's neatly penned note:

**Ginny,**

**How have things been? It seems like forever since I've written to you; I feel completely awful! I don't know if Ron or Harry has told you, but I've given up on trying to get an internship with the Ministry until things are a bit more in order. I've been helping George to re-open Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, along with Percy. I know it's not exactly what anyone expected, but all three of us are having an excellent time. (Percy can really be quite funny, and I suppose I can be, as well. Comes as a bit of a shock, doesn't it?)**

**George has been hinting that he's going to send you some of what we've been working on, but Percy and I advise you most strongly _not _to use any of it, because the ban on Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is probably still in effect and the last thing you need is a detention, especially when you're so busy with Quidditch and your studies.**

**There's been talk at the Burrow of coming up to Hogwarts for your next match, and I'd love to go! George doesn't have many…rules, so we'll probably all be there.**

**Love you and see you soon,**

**Hermione**

Ginny's eyes scanned the letter again until she found Harry's name. Surely he had told Hermione, at least, that he was no longer communicating with her? She shut her eyes, sighing, and moved on to Percy's short note. It was almost exactly like Hermione's, from the apology for not writing more often to the warning about George's package to the comment about their new boss's general lack of order. _Forget Ron,_ Ginny thought with a smile, _Percy and Hermione are soul mates._

All that was left now was Ron's letter:

'**Lo, Gin!**

**Good luck on your match and stuff. You'll probably be fine, as long as your Keeper's better than I was.**

**Anyways, it's great that you're friendly with Oliver Wood. I didn't much know him, but Harry did, and he says he's an alright bloke. It was really stupid of Puddlemere to let him go, though. Their reserves are almost as bad as the Cannon's now…**

**The Auror training is going real well. At first it was a bit scary, & they wouldn't let me and Harry work together. Now they've sort of figured out that I'm useless without him. I really wish Hermione would train with us, too. Whenever we're hanging about the Burrow and talking about how we barely escaped or nearly died she gets on about how she's read all about that and she would have known exactly what to do because we learned about it in 4th year Charms or something. Never changes, that Hermione, always been a know-it-all. But we're…y'know, dating now, and things are going pretty well, so I expect I'll have to get used to it one of these days, about like how you'll have to get used to Harry's hero-business.**

Ginny's face fell. Had he not even told Ron, his best friend in the world, that he had broken things off?

**I wouldn't know, though, 'cause I don't ask him. Still a bit weird to think of you… and him… y'know.**

_Of course, Harry'd be relying on Ron's discomfort with our relationship to keep from having to talk about it._

**I reckon you've heard that the family's going to try and come to the Hufflepuff match. We'll be with them, unless Harry and I can't get off work. Dawlish is head of the Auror department for now, and he wasn't too chuffed about the amount we asked off for the holidays, but Kingsley said he'd sort it out for us. Great bloke, that Kingsley, and a good Minister too. **

**Well, you're probably about as tired of reading this as I am of writing it, so if I don't see you for the match it'll be Christmas.**

**Ron**

Ginny was extremely glad that she hadn't read any of the letters before the match. She laid back and worked her way under the thick bedcovers, blowing out the lantern and drawing the curtains around her. Desperately, Ginny wanted to sleep, but for the moment she was too deep in thought. Harry hadn't told anyone, it seemed, that he had unceremoniously dumped her. _It wasn't exactly a proper dumping,_ she corrected herself. _More of a rain check for when our relationship would be more convenient for him._

More and more often, Ginny had to remind herself that he was -the- Harry Potter, the one she'd loved her whole life. He probably thought that this would be better or easier for her; he always did noble things like that. _Still,_ she thought sadly, _would've been nice for him to ask_.

The next morning, Ginny felt like she'd been hit by about 2 dozen Bludgers. She was stiff from the match, exhausted from her half night of sleep, and definitely not thrilled about the trip from Gryffindor Tower the Great Hall and the 7 floors involved. Only when her stomach grumbled loudly did she stand.

"How am I even -hungry- from all I ate last night?" she wondered out loud as she got dressed.

"Oh, that's right," she answered herself, looking in the mirror and pulling her long, red hair out of her face. "Weasley."

The Common Room was strangely quiet as Ginny came down the stairs from her dorm, but she wasn't yet awake enough to take much notice. Nor did she register the stares she got from two 5th year Hufflepuffs on the fourth floor, or the whispers of a Slytherin couple in a staircase. In fact, Ginny didn't notice much of anything until she walked into the Great Hall. As soon as she stepped through the tall doors, nearly every witch in the room and a good half of the wizards fell silent. Ginny frowned, looking around to see what was going on. She was certain that the Hall had been as noisy as ever just a moment ago…and then it hit her. People were staring at her. Approaching the table, Ginny shot a questioning glance at some of her teammates. Sara stared intently at her cereal, but Kayleigh stood and faced her, wringing something in her hands.

"Ginny…" the blonde girl said, struggling. "Look, you should see this before you hear about it from someone else…" With that, she handed over what she had been holding.

It was that morning's edition of Witch Weekly, but it was already wrinkled from the way Kayleigh had been holding it. "Wha…" Ginny began to ask, but as she smoothed out the magazine, she realized what she was looking at. The headline read, in glittering letters:

**THE BOY WHO LIVED…_and the witches he loves!_**

Smaller letters, above pictures of Cho Chang, Hermione, Luna, and (_Merlin! That's me! From yesterday!)_ a picture of herself from the Quidditch match the day before, spelled out:

**The Chosen One**

**(And why he can't choose just one!)**

_**By Sonora Loop**_

She wanted to ignore it, to laugh and set it down and enjoy her breakfast. And she might have been able to, had the pictures only been of her, Luna, and Hermione. Ginny wasn't stupid; she knew with confidence that nothing was going on between Harry and either of her best friends. But Cho…Ginny was reminded rather painfully of her Third and Fourth Years and the time Harry had spent enamored with Ravenclaw's old Seeker.

With the eyes of the entire Great Hall following her, Ginny shakily took a seat and flipped to the cover story, unconsciously holding her breath.

The story had been nothing short of trash, but it had effectively shaken the ebbing glow of victory from Ginny's core. She would have liked nothing more than to go back to bed, to hide from the curious stares she was getting from staff and student alike, she couldn't. She was a Weasley, and Weasleys didn't run and hide just because nasty articles had been written. Besides, she had an appointment to keep with Oliver.

Pinching the bridge of her nose as she walked out of the Great Hall, Ginny hoped to Merlin that Oliver hadn't seen the magazine. _Not that he seems like Witch Weekly's target reader,_ she mused wryly. But she had seen the Arithmancy and Muggle Studies witches gossiping at the High Table. Either way, it wasn't the sort of conversation she wanted to have with him. She turned towards the first staircase that would take her to the office with a view of the Quidditch pitch when a gentle voice stopped her.

"Miss Weasley?"

Ginny turned around, surprised. "Firenze! I thought you didn't leave your classroom much," she said, offering the centaur a friendly smile.

"Your presence in my class is missed," Firenze noted, gazing out of the window. Ginny wasn't surprised that he hadn't directly answered her question. Centaurs rarely did.

"Yes," she said patiently, "it's one of the subjects I dropped after my OWLs. Where are you headed now?"

He turned his large, bright eyes towards her. "It is vital that I speak with the headmistress. I am seeing something in a different light, so to speak," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You're involved," he added casually. "The stars have an interesting plan for you, Miss Weasley." With that, Firenze turned, clip clopping back towards the Great Hall and leaving Ginny to wonder what exactly the stars were going to do to her as she walked the rest of the way to Oliver's office.

She found him sitting on his desk, prodding his miniature Quidditch pitch with his wand. As soon as he heard her enter, he launched into a description of the weaknesses of her team, her playbook and her individual style, all without turning around or saying hello.

Enormously relieved that Witch Weekly hadn't penetrated Oliver's obsessive need to dissect the previous day's match, Ginny threw herself into the discussion. When the criticisms finally ended, he offered modest congratulations on what she had done well. Finally, he folded up the Quidditch pitch. "So who do you want at the next match?" he asked, gathering envelopes and parchment off of his desk.

**A/N: **_What do -you- think is in George's package? I'm letting my readers decide. Leave a review with what you think the newest Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze would be and it might just end up in the next chapter! Also, I know the grammar isn't perfect in Ron's letter, but that's just how Ron is, isn't it? So be sure to review. I really just can't believe how long this is getting; the whole thing is already about 40 pages long! I know this chapter was painfully light on Oliver, and I apologize, but the next few chapters are when things finally get exciting between them. Patience is a virtue, lovely readers!_


	7. The Way She Plays

VII

"Well, my family owled to say they'd be coming…" Ginny said, scratching her neck and still trying to push thoughts of the article from her mind.

"Brilliant, sure. Who do you want to be there?" Oliver repeated stubbornly, scratching a quill against a scrap sheet of parchment.

"Oh! Like teams. Umm…" Ginny trailed off, biting her lip and thinking. She listed the teams that had already contacted her again, and Oliver nodded as she named each one.

"Appleby's already owled, they're coming to see you and Hufflepuff's Beater, Theen." He crossed something out on the parchment and drew a sloppy arrow towards something else.

Ginny gave a small shrug. She'd never much supported the Arrows, but if they offered her a position….

"And Montrose always has a strong offense, so I took the liberty of writing them, as well. Kenmare said they'd send their scout if he was available, but I've met that man, and he's about as agreeable as a goblin's hairy arse mole, so don't get your hopes up about that."

She chuckled. "Well his team is rubbish, I don't blame him for being grumpy!" Absentmindedly, she flicked the tiny Quaffle around the miniature Quidditch pitch on his desk. "What about Holyhead?" she asked hopefully, the words "_And Why He Can't Choose Just One!" _echoing in her mind.

He smacked her head away from the small pitch, sending the Quaffle rolling off the desk and under a bookshelf. "Don't touch that, look what you've done," he chastised half-heartedly, not meeting her eyes. "I haven't heard from them yet, but I haven't sent an owl, either.

"Accio!" Ginny lazily summoned the Quaffle, looking up at Oliver with brows knit in frustration. "Why not?"

"Because Holyhead is a strong team and they always will be. We both know Gwenog Jones will be retiring soon. She's 36, for Merlin's sake, she's one of the oldest Chasers in the league." Ginny opened her mouth to add something, but Oliver didn't give her the time to speak. "Don't interrupt. Jones'll transition to coaching, but you'd better believe she'll want every lass on the team-down to the last string of reserves-to be the strongest they've recruited since she left school. She'll want every player to be as good as possible before she steps down. Now, I think you and I both know you're good enough to play first string for half the teams in Britain-" Ginny's face betrayed her surprise at the high praise, but still she didn't interrupt. "-But Jones will want to see that for herself, without me having to tell her first. Holyhead will come, and they'll like what they see." His face softened, and his tone was less business-like as he continued. "You're brilliant in the air, Ginny, and I could have been your captain. My girls were good, but you're _great_. Merlin, if you were three or four years older, Gryffindor would've had the cup every year…didn't work out that way, though," Oliver shook his head, resuming his more formal tone. "On to more pressing business: I've promised both of my classes that they could play a game if all of them could fly around the Quidditch pitch without falling or crying. The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors have managed, and I'm only waiting on one pudgy Ravenclaw boy before they and the Slytherins are ready as well. The wizard-born in my first class is clamoring for Shuntbumps, but the last thing I need is three broken wrists and a ruptured spleen. Quidditch is too obvious. I'd love to show them Creaothceann, and maybe knock one or two of the little shits out, but I don't fancy McGonagall would be too keen on that. Ideas?"

She shook her head at the thought that keeping First Years entertained was more pressing than her future career, but contributed anyways. "Aingingein could be fun, if you subtract the flaming barrels, of course…" Oliver's face fell, as if he hadn't thought to eliminate the flames. "…But I'd say Quodpot. Enchant some Muggle footballs to blow up full of purple smoke or glitter or paint or something. You won't have the height of flying that you'd need for Quidditch or Aingingein, it's not as stupidly childish as Shuntbumps or…what's the other one? Swine something? Where you're backwards?... And no one really has a disadvantage for not flying well, because it's mostly luck," she smiled, pleased with her contribution. "Besides," she added wickedly, "a flick of the wand _could_ perhaps cause a football to explode in the hands of a particularly troublesome child..."

Monday afternoon, the small office was crammed with about half a hundred footballs, still in their boxes. Stuck to the front of the largest pile was a note.

**Weasley:**

**I asked Flitwick if he'd help me charm these, but he said you're more than capable.**

**There are two dozen for each class, plus a handful of spares if you mess up. Don't mess up. I'm servicing brooms; don't wait for me.**

**-Wood**

The 'W' in 'Wood' was peculiarly curved, as if he'd started to write 'Oliver; but had changed his mind. Ginny frowned at the footballs, arms crossed. Her Charms book was halfway across the castle in her dorm, and although she had a few ideas for the balls, she knew it would be complicated at wand-work, even with a book. The Charms Corridor wasn't far, anyways.

The ground came up so fast beneath him that Oliver's trainers left a rut in the grass. The school brooms didn't need servicing-not today, anyways-but it was a chance to fly and a chance to distance himself from her, two things Oliver couldn't pass up after last night. He set the Comet down, checking it off on the list next to the pile and set it with the other brooms he'd finished. Next was a ragged Shooting Star. He straightened the twigs in the tail and polished the handle, wincing as he noticed the deep, ugly scratch on the thick base. It didn't look deep enough to affect any of the charms; the age of the broom was more likely to do that. "This needs to be tested heavily," he muttered to himself, gently working the scuffs and scratches from the varnished cherry. The stain was dark with age and exposure, but polishing it brought out the warmth characteristic to the model. It was almost funny-the fiery Shooting Star was the preferred broom of the fieriest family he'd had the pleasure of flying with. The Weasleys were, rather simply, poor. _Although I imagine putting seven children through seven years of school would stretch most any budget, _he conceded. The Shooting Star had been an embarrassingly old model when Charlie had used it in the 1980s, and by the time the twins had played as Beaters they were nothing short of pitiable. It was no wonder they'd donated them to the school shed as soon as they could get more recent models. Oliver turned the broom over in his hands, thinking. _This could have been one of theirs…Hell, this could be the first broom Ginny ever flew._

He sat there, staring at the broom, thinking of her despite all of his attempts not to. Oliver could picture her strategizing, determinedly hunched over the miniature Quidditch pitch. He could see her laughing in the air, he could see her angry on the pitch, and he could see her crying at her brother's funeral. She was everywhere, and it was a problem.

Distressed and distracted, he hopped onto the broom and began his tests. He flew in low circles around the pitch, noticing how the old broom faltered on left turns. Swinging right under the goal hoops, he flew straight ahead for speed. The tail had some pretty serious vibrations, but none of the First Years would ever fly fast enough for it to be a problem. The brakes were surprisingly functional, and it only leaned a little to the left when rising. He landed, dismounted, and on an impulse mounted again, taking off towards the goal posts. Images from his dream flashed before his eyes and he flew faster and higher to push them away. As fast as he could fly, he darted through the far right goal post and banked hard left to go through the next hoop…and the broom froze. At that height and speed, the faltering on the left turn was enough to knock him against the post and off of the broom.

As he tumbled out of the sky, the images of Ginny from his dream flashed before his eyes.

Ginny stepped out of the castle and walked towards the pitch, arms heavy with Charms textbooks. She could barely see Oliver testing another old school broom. She had the feeling that he wanted to be left alone today, but she needed to nail down exactly what he wanted her to do with the footballs before she got started.

She saw him soar up, arguably too fast for any of the school brooms to handle. "What's he _doing?_" she muttered, "That's not any of the tests-"

Terrified, she threw the books down and whipped her wand out, screaming a thousand protective spells as she ran.

It was no use; she was too far. Oliver kept falling. When he hit the ground, she abandoned her magic and ran even faster, screaming his name.

**A/N: **_I told you guys things would get exciting with them this chapter! It's short, but full of Oliver because I felt bad for their being so little of him in the last chapter. Reviews are my favorite thing!_


	8. Kick In The Teeth

**A/N: **_Updated so my dear friend Nephthys Moon has something besides her interview earlier today to think about. Things get steamy towards the end. Enjoy!_

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><p>Less than a minute after she'd gotten Oliver to the Hospital Wing, Professor McGonagall appeared, highly distressed, to ask Ginny what had happened.<p>

Ginny had explained as briefly as she could, earning a hard look from her Head of House when she blamed Oliver's accident on account of his "flying stupid."

"Well I can assure you that Instructor Wood is in good hands, Miss Weasley. You may proceed to your next class," McGonagall said, effectively dismissing her.

Ginny's eyes flicked over Oliver's bed. She didn't want to leave yet. "Oh! Um, I don't actually have anywhere to be until practice at 8, would you mind if I stayed, Professor? I was supposed to be helping with the brooms… If I hadn't been a bit late this wouldn't have happened, so I feel responsible," she lied easily. "If he doesn't wake up before dinner, I'll leave."

McGonagall pursed her lips."If Wood was flying in the way you claim he was, I personally absolve you of any and all guilt, Miss Weasley. But if Madame Pomfrey approves, I won't force you out. I will personally oversee your practice this evening, and every evening until Instructor Wood is prepared to resume his duties." She exhaled. "Now, if you would excuse me, I must be getting back to my office before I decide I'd like to be the groundskeeper and the Divination teacher as well."

"Oh, Professor, that won't be necessary," Ginny offered quickly. She noticed how _old _the overworked Headmistress looked, who was eyeing her curiously in response.

"I won't allow you to sabotage our chance for the Quidditch Cup simply because I'm a bit tired, Miss Weasley," she countered tersely.

Ginny insisted. "We'll be fine! Ol–Instructor Wood won't be here for more than a week, we can manage! I swear it." Her cheeks heated a little at nearly slipping on Oliver's name. She irrationally felt like she had nearly revealed something deeply personal.

Professor McGonagall's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly in relief. "I'll notify the other teams that their practices have been cancelled as well. Good evening, Miss Weasley," she finished, taking her leave.

Once she was gone, Ginny exhaled deeply and settled into a chair by Oliver's bed. She looked him over, examining all of his injuries. His right eye was bruised and swollen, he had a busted lip, and his left arm was wrapped from the shoulder down. She knew they weren't too serious, but still had to look away.

Thankfully there was a magazine on the bedside table. She picked it up…and groaned. It was the dreaded copy of _Witch Weekly_ she'd been running from since the day before.

**The Hero of our time has had a busy few months since peace was reached! Personal friend to the Minister of Magic -and- some of Wizarding Society's highest elites, Playboy Potter is ever-so-popular! He gallivants with lovely gals, parades around with pretties, and traipses with TRAMPS! Read about the sordid pasts of his many romantic entanglements...**

Her assessment from the previous morning hadn't changed: It was trash, mostly old stories and pictures. One was of Harry and Hermione after the battle. _Well that's rubbish, _she rationalized, _you can see Ron's whole arm in the picture, and I'm pretty sure I'm on Harry's other side…_ The pictures of Harry with herself and Luna were from Ginny's 17th birthday party at the Burrow over the Summer, which the article didn't fail to point out. Ginny read the puerile paragraph, absentmindedly fingering the gold watch on her left wrist, a souvenir of the same party.

In light of what had happened a few months before, her party had been a rather subdued affair. She'd gotten the watch from her parents, along with the general gamut of birthday presents. She remembered how excited she'd been for Harry's present, and how knowing that Ron had already given Hermione a silver bracelet as a token of their relationship only served to increase her eager anticipation.

The actual present was unexpected, tiny lily-shaped earrings in white gold, each with three tiny peridot gems in the center. She hadn't thought of it at the time, but in retrospect, the connection with his mother seemed a little…weird. They had even belonged to her; they'd been found in the back of a drawer in Sirius's room with a spare set of his father's glasses, long lost after an overnight stay. She'd loved them at the time, but the longer she was away from Harry the more deeply they troubled her. _Do many girls have to remind their boyfriends that they aren't his dead mum? _she wondered bitterly. Right now, the trinkets were deep in the bottom of her trunk.

Oliver stirred, and the thoughts of Harry's vaguely Oedipal gift-giving behaviors fled.

"Grrn," he mumbled, tossing lightly, "Grrnny."

Ginny blushed, all at once confused, a little embarrassed, and very glad Madame Pomfrey was in her office. "Are you saying _my_ name?" she whispered at him, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable.

Indisposed, Oliver didn't answer. He tossed a bit more, said her name more clearly, and cracked open his unbruised eye.

"You rang?" she said, grinning to hide her confusion.

Oliver's eyes shot open and he whipped his head toward her. "Hells," he moaned, wincing, "What did I _do_?"

Ginny shrugged. "The summary is that you were flying stupid and I saved your life. Why were you saying my name?"

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><p>The color drained from Oliver's face. He blinked a couple of times, searching for an answer. "Y-your name? I reckon it's 'cause you claim to have saved my life," he offered quickly. <em>Fuck.<em> _That's not good at all. _He blushed darkly, the memory of his pre-crash thoughts flooding his mind. He was in serious trouble.

She simply shrugged, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder. "Well, if you're awake, I'm going to go wash before dinner. Saving lives is apparently a rather sweaty business. Pomfrey's starting to get a look about her, anyways." Ginny shot a look towards the plump old witch, who was loudly banging bedpans around a dozen beds away. "Let me know when you're ready for me to go back to helping you. Until then, thanks for clearing out my afternoons. Feel better!"

Oliver grunted a goodbye and she was gone. Pomfrey came by a moment later to scold him for hurting himself. "I'd thought I was done with you!" she chided. Then she force-fed him something thick and vile filled with what seemed like gobs of troll hair buried inside. It made his head feel warm and stuffy and heavy and he dimly recognized that me may have been falling back asleep.

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><p>He didn't recognize the room he was in, but it smelled of cinnamon and a crackling fire he could hear but not see. The warmth at his back and the shadow on the wall told him he stood in front of it. Combined with his nakedness it reminded him of a story in a cheesy pornographic magazine he may have read as a teenager, and he half-expected an overly made-up witch with dry blonde hair to be laid out naked on a stained sofa. "Not quite,"a familiar voice corrected him. He jumped half out of his skin at the sight of her, flaming hair and creamy skin both striking against the black satin nothing she was wearing.<p>

"G-Ginny?" he stammered, aroused and embarrassed and confused. His eye were glued to her short, shapely form.

"You rang?" Her smile was incredibly seductive, and her voice sounded exactly as it had when she'd said it in the Hospital Wing.

Suddenly it was arms and lips and hands all around him, a clash of tongues and heat. He couldn't think of anything, he couldn't _feel_ anything but her soft skin beneath his hands. Everything about her was smooth and bright and strong and she was practically shining in his arms. It was so much of what he'd wanted since nearly the start of the term and he could barely breathe from how perfect it felt.

It was too much. The sensation of her lips flitting across the skin of his bare chest alone was too intense. His wanted his hands to be everywhere at once because he needed her to be as naked as he was. And her hands…small and calloused from flying, traveling all down his back and sides! She hit a particularly sensitive spot on his waist and he moaned, desperate for more of her touch.

The fervor of it all was such that his consciousness only coming in short bursts. The whole scene grew to be like a scrambled transmission. Her hands would be at his neck then at his hipbones without moving. She'd be biting his neck the same time her tongue traced the insides of his teeth. He was sitting, they were standing, she was lying beneath him. They were by the fire, in his office, on the pitch.

It felt so right, without his conscience telling him it wasn't.

**A/N: **_He's got it bad. Read and review!_


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